Family Ties
by rosabelle317
Summary: Five times Sharon called Rusty her son. Mostly fluff.


**Notes:** This is a day-after-her-birthday present for **SChimes**, who is brilliant and lovely and shares all of my headcanon and writes us all of the best things. I couldn't decide which story to write you, so I just... wrote you all of them. :D With the exception of the first scene, this is mostly complete fluff of Sharon with her children.

**Family Ties**

**Winter 2015**

Sharon woke long before the thin morning light wormed its way in around the cracks in the blinds. She lay in bed with her eyes closed, quietly listening in the darkness. Rusty was awake too. She heard his footsteps in the hall and then the pipes in the wall as he went to either the kitchen or the bathroom. It was a vicious cycle that took up most of the night.

She debated going after him, thought of walking him back to bed and sitting quietly with him until he fell asleep. She opened her eyes then, surprised to see the outline of her dresser when she turned her head to check the time. Ten minutes to six. He wouldn't have time to fall back asleep anyway.

She was out of bed and dressed by six thirty.

She didn't have the stomach to drink her tea, and left it cooling on the dining room table.

She found Rusty in the bathroom, struggling with his tie before the mirror.

Unexpectedly, her eyes began to sting. Don't be ridiculous, she told herself, blinking the tears away before they were fully formed. She leaned against the doorjamb, waiting, until his head turned almost imperceptibly towards her.

"You ready?" She winced to hear her voice, scratchy from exhaustion and not nearly as quiet and reassuring as she wanted it to be.

"Almost," he said, and stuttered. "I—I just can't get it right."

Sharon cleared her throat and tried again. "Should we call Lieutenant Provenza?"

Rusty didn't smile.

She wasn't feeling much for humor herself.

"Come here," she said, beckoning him closer. "Let me see."

His tie was fine. A little off-center from him having fussed with it, but he'd finally gotten the knot right. Sharon smiled sadly and straightened his tie. Then she buttoned his jacket for him. She couldn't help thinking of the year before, how she'd buttoned his shirt over a bulletproof vest. He'd sworn he could handle himself then.

Now he was quiet and terrified and fidgety. Sharon caught his hands when he reached for his tie again, gently lowering his arms. "Don't touch it."

"Sorry," he mumbled, ducking his head. "Thanks."

"You're going to do fine." Sharon reached up, carefully brushing his bangs out of his eyes. "I wish..."

"Me too." That was all he said. No complaints. She would've let him. Oh, she would've let him say anything he wanted right now.

Rusty looked away. "What if I'm not good enough?"

"Don't think that," she said. "You've done this before. You can do it again."

He was silent a moment, absorbing that. "Okay, but—but what if I'm good enough, and they say he's innocent anyway? That could happen, right?"

"It could," she allowed, because she knew he already knew the answer to that. "It probably won't."

But probably kept her awake at night. It wasn't just Rusty she thought of during those hours. Phillip Stroh had raped and killed at least half a dozen young women, and would go on to kill many more if he were acquitted by a jury. Sharon wasn't sure that she would ever sleep again.

"Do you think he'd come after me?"

When she did sleep, that was the nightmare she woke to. "Try not to think about that."

"He did before..." Rusty twisted, looking, she realized, at the bathroom window.

Sharon swallowed. "You let me worry about that."

They were on the eleventh floor. No one would be climbing in her bathroom window; the only way in was through the front door. If he tried, he wouldn't make it farther than that.

Rusty didn't look soothed. Sharon couldn't blame him.

She hadn't been there that night in Brenda's kitchen to see him with a knife to his throat, but she'd read the report more times than she could remember and she'd seen the scar on his leg, and she would never, ever forget what it felt like to hear him screaming for help on the other side of a locked door.

She crossed her arms across her chest, curling her fingers into fists so he wouldn't see her hands tremble. She wanted to hug him. She wanted to hold him and kiss his hair and promise him that no one would ever, ever hurt him again as long as he lived. But she'd promised him first that she'd never lie to him.

"When we get there, I can't go in with you," she reminded him. And if she could, neither of them wanted her to hear what he had to say. "But I'll be right outside."

He gave her an almost desperately grateful look, and then he said, "You really don't have to do that."

"Rusty."

"What if you have a case?"

"I already took the day off," she said. "If something comes up, Lieutenant Provenza will handle it."

"What if he can't?"

"Then I'll have patrol pick you up and you can wait around the office like you usually do."

"Patrol?" Finally, she saw the barest hint of a smile. "I'm not a kid anymore, Sharon."

"No," she agreed. "You're _my_ kid, and if you want me there, then I'll be there." She took his elbow, giving his arm a little tug to get him moving. She doubted he was hungry, either, but they needed to eat."Come on. Time to get going."

**Spring 2015**

The fear in her heart had grown so slowly, and been carried for so long, that Sharon forgot the weight of it until it lifted. It happened so suddenly it was disorienting, and she steadied herself with a hand on Rusty's arm. If he noticed, he only thought she was drawing him closer for the pictures, and he let her.

He was hers. Really and truly _legally_ hers, and no one could take that away.

She hadn't realized until the moment the adoption was finalized just how afraid she had been that someone or something would interfere.

Phillip Stroh was no longer a threat. He'd be spending the rest of his life in prison, and no one was too sorry that he was gone.

Jack had done his best, or his worst, to make a mess of her life. She'd dealt with him, and finalized her divorce more or less the way that she'd wanted to, but... Jack knew exactly how much she wanted Rusty, and he'd tried so hard to hurt her with that.

Those were thoughts for another time.

Sharon hugged Rusty to her side, and beckoned her other children closer into the photo. She wrapped one arm around Emily's waist and Ricky came to stand beside Rusty, and she told them all to smile.

She didn't stop smiling.

The stranger thing was that Rusty didn't, either.

It set her heart at ease, seeing that.

She'd worried about him. That he would realize that this wasn't what he wanted and change his mind, that he would feel like he didn't fit into the family, that something would _happen_ to him before the adoption could be finalized.

But it hadn't.

Back at the condo, she caught him staring at her whenever he thought she wasn't looking. He never held her gaze, and always turned back to setting out stacks of paper plates.

Ricky helped him.

From the kitchen, Sharon watched the two of them work side by side. They were getting along better, she thought. Legally, they were brothers now. She hoped someday they would be more like brothers emotionally, but for now, they were friends. That was something they could all live with, and it meant more than she could tell them that they worked at it for her sake.

"You look happy." Emily set a tray of sliced vegetables on the counter and came to stand beside Sharon.

"I am," Sharon said quietly, moving to wrap an arm around her daughter's shoulders.

Emily squeezed without saying anything.

"I've been so worried about them that I never asked you," Sharon said in a low voice. "How are you with all of this?"

"I'm fine, Mom."

"Are you sure, honey?"

"Well," Emily said, and just as Sharon started to worry, she laughed. "You did promise me a sister. Bad mother."

"Maybe," Sharon said. "I said _maybe_ you could have a sister."

The boys had finished in the living room. Ricky spread out across the couch, and out of the corner of her eye, Sharon saw Rusty duck out onto the balcony.

"As far as surprise teenage brothers go..." Emily shrugged. "He's a good kid."

"He is," Sharon agreed.

"You're a good mother."

She hummed. "I had good children."

"You didn't." Emily laughed. "I was terrible."

"I have good children _now_," she said, and rubbed Emily's shoulder. "Do you mind finishing up in here? I want to talk to them before everyone else gets here."

She started with Ricky. He was closer, and Rusty probably wanted a few moments to himself. It happened whenever he was around her children for too long. He always escaped for awhile, but he always came back.

"Hey," Sharon said quietly, sitting beside him. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course I came, Mom."

Sharon smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder. He was leaving in the morning this time, but she couldn't complain when he'd come down for both Thanksgiving and Christmas and stayed for a week each time. The last time she'd seen this much of him, he'd been living with her.

It seemed his desire to spend more time in LA had been motivated by something other than his father meddling in her affairs.

"I love you," Sharon said. "Nothing with Rusty changes that."

"Mom," he said again, sounding exasperated. "I _know_."

Stubbornly, she held on.

He sighed, and kissed her cheek. "I love you too."

She rubbed his back, then slid her arm through his and tugged him with her when she stood. "Come on," she said. "People will be here any minute. Help your sister with the food. I'll go get Rusty."

Sharon wrapped the ends of her sweater around herself before she stepped out onto the balcony. Emily might say that it was still snowing in New York, and she wouldn't be _wrong_, but Sharon lived in LA, not New York, and a light breeze with temperatures in the low sixties called for long sleeves, thank you very much.

Rusty clearly disagreed. He was wearing only a t-shirt, not even with one of his sleeveless hoodies, but he was hunched over the railing, his arms braced against his chest, and she thought he was shivering.

Sharon shook her head.

"Hey," she said quietly, coming to stand beside him. "Everything okay?"

He nodded without looking at her. She couldn't quite see his face, but she thought he was staring at nothing at all.

"You've been out here awhile."

He shrugged. "I needed a minute."

"It's all right if you're a little overwhelmed," she said. Maybe it would have been a better idea to hold the party over the weekend. They could've all had some time to adjust.

"It's not that," he said quietly. "I was just... thinking about my mom."

"Oh," she said, and waited.

"I don't want you to get the wrong idea," he said. "Because I—I'm not regretting this or feeling guilty or anything. Just... maybe a little guilty that I _don't_ feel guilty. If that makes any sense."

"It does."

He shrugged.

Carefully, she touched him, her hand settling into the space between his shoulder blades. He didn't tense or flinch away, and she rubbed slow circles in his back as she thought.

"She'll always be your mother," Sharon told him. "This doesn't change that."

If she could love three children, equally but very, very differently, he could love two mothers. There was room in his heart for both of them. Sharon knew he still hoped that someday his mother would be able to love him back. In the meantime, he knew where she was if he wanted to see her. He'd done it just once, at Christmastime.

"I know," Rusty said. "Sharon... I don't want you to think that I'm not happy or anything."

"I know."

"I just... needed a minute," he repeated.

"Take all the time you need," she said, her hand sliding down his arm as she turned to go. "I'll be inside."

"When's everyone coming?"

"They should be here..." Sharon checked her watch. "Any minute now."

"I'm okay, Sharon," he said. "We can go in."

"You don't—" she began.

"It's okay," he repeated. "It's kinda cold out here, anyway."

Sharon tried not to smile as she turned around.

Rusty caught her elbow before she could get too far. He didn't hug her so much as he walked straight into her and Sharon blinked in surprise, then brought her arms up around him, slowly shifting so that she could hug him properly.

He held on.

"Thank you," he whispered.

She'd come so close to making it through the entire day without crying. Her eyes filled without warning and she squeezed him hard, struggling to blink them away. She felt a few of them escape anyway and slide down her cheeks.

She didn't let go until she trusted herself to speak.

"You don't need to thank me," she said, touching his chin once she released him. "There was something in it for me too."

"Sharon..."

"No," she said gently. "Just once, so I know you know. I'm so, _so_ happy that you're my son."

He wouldn't quite meet her eyes then, but he said a quiet "me too," and that was more than enough for her.

"Come on," she said. "Everyone will be here soon."

**Spring 2015**

Sharon was halfway through an email to her mother when Rusty interrupted to ask if she thought inspired was a good synonym for motivated.

"Stick with motivated," she advised him. "Or dedicated. What are you working on?"

"Just these scholarship applications," he said, and she watched his expression turn from contemplative to melancholy.

Sharon lifted her hands from the keyboard. She'd reached the point of asking about her parents neighbors, and she wasn't too sorry to let that wait awhile. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." Rusty fidgeted. "I was just looking at all of these brochures, or whatever you call them, that I got..."

"And?" she prompted.

"And... and don't, like, freak out or anything, okay?"

That was never encouraging, but his look turned pleading. Sharon nodded. "I'll do my best."

"And maybe I shouldn't go to college next year."

Oh.

Sharon felt her eyebrows lift and furrow together, and she watched Rusty struggle not to cringe in response. "And why shouldn't you?"

He shrugged.

"Rusty."

"I know you really, really want me to go," he said. "And, like, I'm not saying that I _never_ want to go, but maybe... maybe I should wait another year or two."

So he had some anxiety. Okay. That was normal. She could deal with that.

Sharon tried to sound calm for him. "Why?" she asked again.

"It's just that..." Rusty shrugged. "It's so expensive, and... and I'm not sure what I want to do."

Sharon closed her laptop and stood. Rusty gave her a wary look when she came around the side of her desk, looking himself like he'd like nothing more than to escape to his room for awhile, but when she motioned for him to move his legs to make room for her on the couch, he did so.

"Okay," she said. "What you're feeling right now is _completely_ normal. Most people don't know what they want to be at your age."

"Your other kids did."

Sharon blinked. "Is that what this is about? Don't shrug."

He opened his mouth, then slowly closed it again.

She waited.

"Sometimes I feel like... like..." He did shrug, then, but she let it slide. As long as he was talking. "Did you know I would've gotten way more financial aid if I were still an orphan?"

There was a sudden pressure in her chest.

"I just... I told you before," he said. "I don't want to be a problem for you, and Sharon, I don't even know what I want to do."

"And I've told _you_ before that you are _never_ a problem," she reminded him gently, speaking around the lump in her throat. "I don't expect you to be anyone but who you are... and for whatever it's worth, my other children had no idea what they wanted to do with their lives at your age, either."

Rusty hesitated. "They didn't?"

"Well... Emily knew she wanted to dance," she told him. "But she still had a backup plan, and Ricky... Ricky was always _good_ with computers, but he was a math major before he switched to computer science, and before that he was thinking about engineering."

He still didn't look convinced, but she thought she saw him relax.

"And sometimes," she added, "the career you end up in has nothing to do with what you studied in school. Look at me."

"Wait." Now he just looked puzzled. "You always wanted to be a lawyer?"

She wasn't entirely sure where his surprise was coming from. "I did."

"Oh."

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"No," he said. "It... makes more sense than what I thought before, actually."

"And what _did_ you think before?" she said, when he didn't finish the thought.

Rusty shrugged. "I just sorta thought that you joined the police and Jack went to law school first because he really wanted to be a lawyer and you weren't sure."

"Ah," she said, and shook her head. "No. I knew. Jack and I took the LSAT together. We applied to law school together."

That was all she planned to say.

But then he looked at her and asked, "And?"

She thought that was genuine curiosity and not just a simple desire to distract her from talking about _his_ future.

And she'd worked harder than Jack, scored higher than he had, and been offered admission to better schools. "And we decided that his chances of making enough to put me through school were better than mine."

"Why?"

"Because he's a man."

"Oh," he said, and was quiet a moment. "That's not fair."

"It's not," she agreed. "But enough about that. The point I'm trying to make to you is that even when you think you know what you want, life can surprise you and not knowing exactly what you want to do with your life doesn't mean that you shouldn't go to college next year. You've worked so hard for it."

"I know, but... it's still so expensive."

"See what scholarships and grants you're offered, and let me worry about the rest."

"That's _definitely_ not fair," he said. "I'll get a job, or—"

"No," she said. "At least not your first year. I want you to spend this year just concentrating on doing well in your classes. Join a club. Make some friends."

"But—"

"I mean it, Rusty," she said. "If you really want a job _next_ year, we can... discuss that. But you're my son, and as long as I have the ability to help you enter adulthood without massive amounts of debt, I will."

"But..." Rusty lowered his head as he finally confessed what was really bothering him. "What if I'm not worth it?"

What really broke her heart was knowing that he was serious. Sharon swallowed against the pain in her heart, and shook her head, trying to smile for him. "You already are."

Embarrassed, he wouldn't look at her.

"So," she said, and touched his hand. "Have you thought about where you might like to go?"

He was still waiting on his acceptance letters, but she knew he had preferences.

His eyes flicked up to hers. "I kinda like UCLA. Maybe USC."

Neither choice was a surprise. They had talked before about how Rusty would like to stay in southern California. After moving so much as a child, he liked the thought of familiar surroundings, now. It still did her heart good to hear. Sharon had moved three thousand miles across the country to go to college and, in typical teenage fashion, dismissed her parents' worry as overreaction.

Then _her_ child had done exactly the same thing, and suddenly, their concern had seemed perfectly reasonable. Ricky at least had stayed in California. But she worried differently about Rusty, and it nearly gave her heart palpitations to think of him somewhere where she couldn't get to him if he needed her. In her defense, her concern was sometimes warranted, in his case.

"Those are both _very_ good schools."

**Fall 2015**

"How big of a party are we thinking?"

Sharon took another sip of tea and fixed her daughter with a stern look. "It's not a _party_. It's a tasteful, quiet, _small_ dinner celebration."

"So, a party."

"It's okay, Mom," Ricky said. He took up the entire couch when he sprawled out, leaving Emily to balance herself on one of the arms. "You can call it a party. You've earned a party."

"See?"

Sharon gave Ricky the same look.

"Rusty." He was huddled quietly in the second armchair, and shot Sharon a nervous look when Emily turned on him. "What do you say? Is it a party?"

"Uh..." He hesitated, clearly reluctant to get pulled into the discussion.

"Party that's not a party, then," Emily said cheerfully. "Okay. Guest list. How many people are we talking? Besides your team. Your friend Gavin? He's married, right? Are we doing plus ones?"

"Yes, Gavin," Sharon said, and thought. "We might as well let everyone bring a guest. The room's big enough."

"So... who else?"

"Chiefs Johnson and Howard," Sharon said. "Andrea Hobbs. The detectives I worked with in FID—Elliot, Davies, and Ray. Chief Taylor signed the paperwork. If we're giving everyone a guest, Andy will probably bring his daughter, and Amy's dating an SIS lieutenant."

"Food, drinks, desserts?"

"Provided by the restaurant," Sharon said.

"Music? Dancing?"

"I hadn't planned on it," she said, though she reconsidered even as she said it. The banquet room she'd reserved opened onto a small patio. There would be space, the weather was nice, she did love to dance, and why not, when she was celebrating something she'd given up any expectation of happening.

Emily pouted.

"Oh, all right."

Maybe she did want a party.

"Is the dancing optional?" Ricky said. "I think the last time I danced was at prom."

"Don't look at me," Rusty said, when she turned to him next. "I didn't go to prom."

"Smart," Emily said. "If you don't go to prom, you can't get dumped at prom." She laughed about it now, but she'd come home and cried herself to sleep on Sharon's shoulder. "I'll teach you. Who's first?"

"Uh..." Rusty was already on his feet. "I'm going to get a soda."

That left Ricky to Emily's mercy.

"Come here, little brother."

"I'm not little, you're little."

"I'm older."

"I'm taller."

"I'm meaner."

Sharon left them to work it out between themselves and followed Rusty to the kitchen.

"You want a soda? I was just _asking,_ Sharon."

She hid a smile.

He pulled the tab on the soda can and waited a moment for the bubbles to die before he took a sip. "You like having them here."

"I do." She slid her hands into the pockets of her sweater, trying to keep her smile from turning sad. "I wish I could have all of you over for dinner every week."

In truth, she saw Rusty far more often than that. In the beginning, he'd come over three times a week under the guise of studying with some excuse about the library being too crowded. In practice, he'd spent most of the time venting his anxiety and now that he felt both safe at school and reassured that she wasn't going anywhere and would always welcome him back, she usually talked to him twice during the week and he spent most Saturdays at the condo doing laundry. He usually stayed until after dinner.

"But," she said. "I'm more than happy that you're all here now."

"So, like... this party," Rusty said, then glanced at her and changed his mind. "Celebration. Whatever you and Emily are calling it. It's kind of a big deal?"

"It means a lot to me, yes," she said. "Not so much for the thing itself, but... I'm not sure I can really explain to you what the environment was like when I joined the force."

"It sucked?" Rusty suggested, and she laughed.

That was one way to put it.

"It really did." She paused. "In many ways, it still _does_, but this is a good thing, Rusty. Not just for me, but for all of the women on the force."

She'd thought she'd gone as far as she could, in terms of her own career, and she'd made her peace with that, contenting herself with, she hoped, having made a difference for all the women who came after her. For Commander McGinnis, who'd risen quickly through the ranks. For Amy, who wanted to be Captain Sykes one day.

But for herself... this validated every professional decision she'd ever made, even moreso than when she'd been promoted to captain, and she found herself walking around these days with her heart lighter than she ever would have thought.

What really surprised her was how many people she had to celebrate with.

That had snuck up on her.

"I don't really have to dance, do I?"

She tried not to laugh again. "You don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with," she assured him. "But I would very much like to celebrate with _all_ of my children."

"I'll _think_ about it," he relented, and paused. "Commander."

**Spring 2016**

Sharon smelled coffee.

And bacon.

She didn't recall cooking either, but she'd half expected that and when she stepped out of the shower to the aroma of something other than her shampoo, she wasn't entirely surprised.

She hummed to herself, smiling as she tightened the belt on her robe and left the bathroom before heading to her room to dress. She was close enough now to hear the bacon sizzling, and there was also the quiet sputter of the coffee pot and the clanking of plates and silverware as Rusty moved around in the kitchen.

He'd told her he'd come make her breakfast.

She'd told him he didn't have to.

There had been some mutual eyerolling.

Sharon was halfway dressed before she realized the significance of the coffee. Rusty didn't drink coffee so much as caffeinated sugar, and he certainly never drank it warm. He also knew very well that she preferred tea in the mornings; coffee was to keep herself awake when sleep became a luxury.

She grabbed her favorite blouse from the chair she'd laid it out on the night before, buttoning it so hurriedly that it would've been quicker to just take her time. She succeeded on the second try and hurriedly tied the long tails into a loose knot, and didn't bother with her shoes before she left the room.

The only person who she expected to find drinking coffee in her living room was—

"Ricky!"

Barefoot, she practically came up off the ground when he hugged her.

"Surprise." She could _hear_ him beaming.

"What are you _doing_ here?" she demanded, and hugged him closer. "You know what, I don't care. I'm just happy to see you."

"Me too," he said, and kissed her cheek twice. "That's from Emily."

She kept one arm around him when she released him, and turned to face Rusty. He gave her a sheepish grin. "Happy birthday, Sharon."

"Happy birthday, Mom," Ricky echoed. "Come on, sit down, we made you breakfast."

"And it smells wonderful."

"Sit," Rusty said.

She turned towards the table, intending to do so, and paused. On the far end of the table were two wrapped presents, one small and square sitting atop another, this one a flat, thin rectangle. There were three place settings, and between them, a small vase filled with lilies.

"You got me flowers?" This was getting to be too much.

"Not me." Ricky tilted his head towards Rusty.

"Actually—" Rusty gave her a self-conscious shrug. "The flowers are a thank you for helping me move into my apartment when everyone else bailed on me. Ricky has your present. It's from all of us."

His phrasing made her smile.

"You should've told her Emily's present was from all of us too," Ricky told him. Sharon gave his arm a gentle whack. He grinned, unrepentant, and went to pass her the first of her presents. "She said to tell you again she's sorry she couldn't make a trip out here and that she loves you and she'll call you later."

"And I told her a dozen times not to worry about it," she said, as she took the box he offered her. It was the smaller of the two, light when she weighed it in her hand but she felt something solid beneath the paper. "Which one is this?"

"That's Emily's thing," Ricky said. "She wouldn't tell me what it is but she said not to get too excited."

"I'm sure it's wonderful, whatever it is," Sharon said. She sat to open it, prying the tape up gently with the edge of a fingernail. She ignored the looks that earned her, choosing instead to unwrap it carefully.

She laughed when she saw what she held in her hands. A tea sampler, fifteen different flavors. She glanced quickly through the list on the side of the box. The ginger peach sounded most promising.

"I'm also supposed to tell you," Ricky said, "that the reason your card isn't here yet is because she took her time choosing the right one, not because she forgot to mail it."

She laughed again. She didn't care.

Rusty brought her food. He set a plate full of french toast, eggs, and bacon in front of her, then left and returned again with the butter and syrup and one of her oversized mugs of tea.

Sharon set the tea box to the side of her plate. She would try one later that evening.

Ricky brought over the second present while she poured syrup over the french toast. He held it carefully and flat, and from the way he held it, she gathered that it was both heavy and fragile. Sharon balanced it on her lap as she unwrapped it.

Rusty gave her anxious looks as she peeled the paper out of the way. She didn't have time to wonder why before her fingernails touched glass, and she shook the paper gently off to reveal...

A framed portrait of the three of them, their arms around each other and all of them smiling.

She was so surprised she nearly dropped it.

"What..." She looked up, her hands tightening around the frame."When did you even..."

"When we were here at Christmas," Ricky said.

Sharon gave the portrait another look. She could see it now. Emily stood in the middle, with the side swept bangs she'd worn back in December, and she remembered Ricky wearing that blue button-down shirt at Christmas dinner.

Rusty was wearing the same shirt, she realized a moment later, and Emily's dress was a darker, coordinating blue. They had to have gone shopping together.

"Since you're always talking about how we're family..." Rusty's voice broke into her thoughts, but he just shrugged when she looked at him. "We thought you might like it."

"I do." Her arms curled around the frame. "And you all look so nice."

Her eyes landed on her watch then and she tried not to frown. "I hate to rush through this nice breakfast, but if I'm going to make it to work on time..."

"It's fine, Sharon."

"We were thinking," Ricky said, as he held out his hands to take the picture from her. "We could come by and take you out to lunch. Or bring you lunch, if you'd rather."

Sharon tasted the french toast, humming as she chewed. "This is wonderful," she said, and saw Rusty smile. "As for lunch..."

She took another bite as she thought on it, savoring cinnamon and vanilla and maple syrup. "We do have an open case right now," she said. "So things are a little up in the air, time-wise, but if you bring the food and don't mind being flexible with your schedules..." She smiled at them both. "I think I could find the time to have lunch with my sons."

**Summer 2016**

The trade-off to not seeing Rusty every day was that he started hugging her goodbye whenever Sharon _did_ see him. First tentatively, then properly, giving her enough time to get her arms around him before he pulled away. Now he hugged her hello, wrapping his arms around her without hesitation before she even set down her purse.

"Hi, Sharon."

"Hi." She smiled and squeezed him once more before releasing him, then she stepped back and smoothed down his hair where hugging had mussed it up. "Is this a new shirt?"

"Uh..." Rusty fidgeted. "Yeah, I guess."

She took another look at him. The shirt was another plaid one, green this time, but every so slightly nicer than the ones he usually wore and freshly ironed. She had no idea that he even owned an iron, much less knew how to use one. His jeans looked new too.

Even his socks were clean.

None of her children shared her interest in fashion. Ricky bought all of his shirts from Goodwill, Emily lived barefoot in sweats when she wasn't dancing, and Rusty generally considered dressing well to be only wearing a shirt twice before washing it.

No, as imperceptible as it would've been to anyone else, Rusty was definitely putting some effort into his appearance tonight.

Sharon had a healthy suspicion as to why.

"You look very nice."

"Uh... thanks." Rusty edged out of her way when she tried to straighten his collar. "So, like... it's okay that I wanted you to come here for dinner, right?"

It was only the fourth time he'd asked her. Sharon set her purse on his table, trying to hide her smile.

"You have a nice place," she told him. "I don't mind."

As far as student apartments went, it was true. It was cramped, of course, and the carpet was the same brown one that she'd found in _her_ studio in the late seventies, but there had been some updates done to the kitchen and the bathroom this century and Rusty had enough room for his bed, a desk, and a table.

"It's just that... um." Rusty looked away, his hands twitching, and she watched him strain not to tug at the hem of his shirt. "The thing is... uh... I... might..."

He went on that way for several moments more, complete with the maddening pauses and starting a new sentence with every breath.

Sharon was confident enough that she was right to make it easy for him, just this once. "Will someone else be joining us for dinner?"

Rusty looked equal parts relieved and terrified. "How'd you know?"

"I'm still a detective, honey." Sharon took his arm.

There was one chair at the table and another at the desk, which would be a problem if there were going to be three of them for dinner. What was Rusty planning to do, pull the table alongside the bed and have someone sit there? But the bed would do for now. When she nudged him in that direction, he went, and she sat beside him, folding her hands in her lap.

"So," she said. "Tell me about him."

"You probably figured it out already," he said.

"Maybe." She thought so. "I still want to hear it from you."

"You remember my friend Javier?" he said, and she nodded. "He... um, he might not be a friend."

"Ah," she said.

Rusty gave her a sideways look. "How'd you know?"

"You smile whenever you mention him," she said. And a hundred other things.

"Oh." He wasn't smiling now, though, and his hesitation grew only more pronounced. "So... you're not upset?"

"Upset?" she repeated. There was some genuine anxiety there.

"That I didn't tell you sooner," he said. ''It's been a couple of months."

She nodded.

His anxiety only seemed to increase.

"Honey." Sharon touched his shoulder. "What's this about?"

"Some people think it's okay to be gay as long as you don't do anything about it. And—and," he hurried to add, when she opened her mouth. "I didn't think _you_ thought that. But maybe like... like _I_ thought that, sort of, and I was projecting?"

She could hear Dr. Joe's influence there, and said a silent prayer of thanks that he'd let someone help him.

"And then I thought you might be upset that I thought you were like that," he went on. "Because I know you're not. I do. And I've never been in a—a relationship before, and I—I... kind of just wanted to see what happened."

"I'm not upset." She stopped him before he could explain any further. "About anything."

"Oh," he said, and didn't relax.

Sharon raised an eyebrow. "Is there something else?"

"I really like him, Sharon."

"I know."

"I really want you to like him too."

"He sounds like a nice boy," she said. "That's all I want for you."

"He is." Rusty's expression turned wary. "So just don't, like... make a speech about how you carry a badge and a gun, okay?"

Sharon laughed before she could help it.

"I won't embarrass you," she promised, laying a hand on his arm to soothe the look he gave her.

"You can be a little overprotective," he informed her.

Only when someone was trying to _kill him_.

"Since you brought it up—"

"Sharon—"

"Listen to me," she said, squeezing his elbow. "I want you to understand this. If anyone ever mistreats you, or threatens you, or does anything to you that you don't want done, I'm reminding _you_ right now that I carry a badge and a gun. Understand, Rusty?"

He ducked his head halfway through. Now he mumbled something that sounded like an affirmative, and she patted his knee before he grew too uncomfortable. "So," she said. "When will he be here?"

"Like... in an hour."

She gave him a look.

"I told him I was just going to tell you as soon as you got here," he said. "He thought he should give me more time than that. He says I ramble when I'm nervous."

She tried very, very hard not to smile. She wasn't sure she succeeded.

"How about I help you finish dinner?" she suggested. Or start dinner. She didn't see anything on the stove. "And you can tell me everything."

There wasn't room for both of them in the kitchen, but finishing dinner consisted mainly of Rusty removing a foil-wrapped dish from the refrigerator and sliding it into the oven. All that was left to do after that was chop vegetables for a salad, which she did sitting at the table. Rusty dragged the computer chair across the room to sit beside her, and then he talked.

Once he started, she could hardly get him to stop.

They'd met not joining the campus QSU ("there was nothing _wrong_ with them, but it felt kinda weird making friends with someone just _because_ they were gay...") then they'd bonded over a mutual loathing of the English composition classes no freshmen actually wanted to take but all were required to ("we had to write _five pages_ on the definition of loyalty"), and then this last semester they sat next to each other in history.

"This history class you just finished," she said. "Was that a coincidence, or did you sign up together?"

"Not, like, _together_ together," he said, and shrugged. "But we each had to take it, and we figured we'd have someone to study with... but then we talked for like, six hours instead..."

Another shrug.

"He's in the marching band," he told her. "Which is kind of funny, because I think I know more about football than he does. But he's really into it, and I... like that he's into it?"

Sharon remembered what that felt like, and nodded approvingly.

The only thing wrong with him, he told her, was that Javier was a cat person.

And terrible at chess, but he was practicing.

The cat thing was an issue, though.

"Stop laughing," he insisted, but he was too busy trying not to smile himself to look offended.

"I'm not laughing at you," she said. "Oh honey, I'm happy for you. I am."

The knock at the door saved Rusty from another arm pat, but he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard it and gave her a nervous look.

Sharon shooed him towards the door.

She stayed where she was for now, waiting and watching. Her view of the boy at the door was half obscured by Rusty, but she caught a glimpse of dark curly hair, and when Rusty stepped back to let him in, she could see him lugging a chair behind him.

Sharon pressed her lips together.

It was important to Rusty that he make them both dinner tonight, but next time she would offer to take them somewhere.

The boy would assuredly have kissed her son if she hadn't been right there. She could tell from the way they moved closer together and then froze, shifting uncomfortably around each other before settling on what was undoubtedly the awkwardest version of Rusty's already awkward handshake. Rusty said something she couldn't hear, and then he turned and waved her closer.

She stood, making sure to smile at the nervous young man standing beside him. She wasn't sure that it helped.

Rusty cleared his throat.

"Sharon, this is Javier," he said. "And Javier, this—" There was a little pause, a little beat of hesitation, and then, just for a second, Rusty's eyes met hers and he smiled, not guarded or hesitant, just happy. "This is my mother."

* * *

><p><strong>Ending Notes: <strong>... and one time he called her his mother. :D There are also about half a dozen alternate versions of that last scene that might be written someday.

**Happy birthday, SChimes! **I hope you had fun.


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